But This is My Home - One writer discovers that living in an architectural icon can be a blessing and a curse.

One writer discovers that living in an architectural icon can be a blessing and a curse. My husband and I moved into the Kallis House in Los Angeles six years ago. It was designed in 1946 by the modernist architect Rudolph Schindler, and it's believed by many, including Frank Gehry, to be among Schindler's best. The house is eccentric, perched on the lip of a hill, with a butterfly roof and a shaggy exterior made of grape stakes. The interior is an unfolding series of surprising angles, with a wonderful wide view of the San Fernando Valley.

- By Susan Orlean - Photographs by Laure Joliet

There was a rustling near the entrance to my house. Bobcats live in the thicket of trees across the street, and mountain lions have ambled through the neighborhood on occasion, so I'm mindful of movement in the leaves that seems peculiar, predatory. I craned my neck for a better look. Hello? I hollered. A head swiveled into view.

Unkempt hair, glasses, rapidly blinking eyes: the distracted air and fluorescent-light pallor of an architecture student.

"Hello", he said. "I would like to look around".

"You can't look around", I said. "This is my house".

"But..." he stammered, "this is a famous house! I am here to take notes, to study it!"

Yes, I said, it is a famous house, but no, it is not open to the public, and unfortunately, I am in the middle of doing something right now and must get back to it. I was as apologetic and gentle as I could be. Crestfallen, he inched back to the street and appeared to leave, although a half hour later, I noticed him at the end of the driveway, scribbling furiously into his notebook.